


i'll make another road for myself (hollow from the inside out)

by astralscrivener



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Dungeons & Dumbasses: Tipsy Rogues, Exes, F/F, How Do I Tag A D&D Fic, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 04:05:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: Astera's spent her whole life running, chaos in her wake, not a care in the world to clean it up.Not until now.





	i'll make another road for myself (hollow from the inside out)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenEevee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenEevee/gifts), [the_incredible_doodler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_incredible_doodler/gifts).



> hi
> 
> so uhh
> 
> this is awkward
> 
> this is my first d&d fic based on my campaign with my friends. for context: the campaign started with a heist, our heist ended in disaster, the party's been on the run, we just killed a mob boss and commandeered her mansion, and then two hobgoblins and a certain someone came to the mansion looking for the dead mob boss. that certain someone, specifically, was my character's ex-girlfriend
> 
> we needed her alive, but one of our other rogues didn't know that and ended up killing her. also i died twice
> 
> my ex did not have the chance to be revived
> 
> anyway this is definitely not where the campaign is going but i started writing and then it just. happened
> 
> i kinda want to write a novel or series of novels based on my own ideas for my ocs so [shrug]
> 
> uhhhhh enjoy
> 
> [title from don't wanna be by the score]
> 
> party members:  
> gorrks > goblin > rogue  
> spike > dark elf > ranger  
> spike's dog > dog > familiar  
> drelllamir > elf > rogue   
> eveldra > tiefling > bard  
> astera > half-elf > rogue (thief)  
> lairane > [npc] half-elf > rogue (assassin)  
> szarin > fish man > ??? fish thanos basically
> 
> **other trigger warnings for blood and mild gore**

                Astera stays awake late into the night when everything’s said and done.

                Their plan is set; they’re going to mobilize in the morning. They’ll either do something with... _her_ body...or they’ll leave it behind, and move along. Just as Astera’s done for her whole life—run from her messes, cleanup be damned. That’s why she’s tried to make as few as possible, but this time...such wasn’t the case.

                Granted, Drelllamir did the best he could with his Prestidigitation: the room’s as spotless as can be, free of the blood and gore that’d coated it hours ago when the battle went down.

                Astera drags a fingernail down her arm, bare of her dragonscale bracers. It’s still pale and sickly, and she should rest, restore herself before they continue on with a mission that’s gotten far more dangerous than she’d ever anticipated when she’d shaken that goblin’s hand. She signed up for a simple heist, not...saving the world, or whatever.

                What good is saving the world when you can’t save yourself?

                Astera rests her hand on her arm, molds her palm to her skin and squeezes until she can feel her heartbeat where it shouldn’t be, digs in her nails until she hasn’t just left crescent moons behind but torn flesh, flesh that’s already scarring from the healing jobs done on her by Eveldra and Spike, who shouldn’t have had to save her skin in the first place.

                Then she steals a glance at the body on the ground next to her.

                Lairane was always kind of pale, but death has turned her lavender skin an ashen gray.

                Her hair, a few shades darker, is tangled, ponytail half-torn out, throwing star hair clips missing. Her eyes—hazel, vibrant hazel, and Astera can recall every last line of green, brown, even some yellow in those irises—were open when the arrow came through her skull. Eveldra had been the one to close them, after Astera scoffed at the body and turned away laughing—and then ran to the bathroom to retch.

                Her hair also conceals the entry and exit points of Drelllamir’s arrow.

                “You really had to shoot well today, of all days, huh?” Astera whispers.

                They’d meant to keep Lairane alive, alive and hostage, to wring every last drop of information out of her. Whether they’d intended to kill her after, or wipe her mind, or knock her out and ditch her somewhere...well, that doesn’t really matter now, does it?  

                Astera swallows thickly and reaches a trembling hand for Lairane’s forehead, and pushes some hair out of her face.

                “I know you hate me,” she whispers. “And I know it seems like...like I hated you…”

                _But._

                The unspoken _but_ hangs in the air. Astera draws her hand back, clenches a fist and brings it to her mouth as she chokes on something, eyes stinging.

                _But we were friends—best friends. Do you remember our days running around the council room? Do you remember the meadow? Do you remember that one closet underneath the staircase?_

_Do you remember when I first kissed you?_

“I think I still...I missed you,” Astera admits, and then raises her eyes, sweeps them around the rest of the room to make sure no one’s come in to overhear her. But Gorkks, Szarin, Spike and his dog, Drelllamir, Eveldra...they all seem to still be asleep, elsewhere in Lady Blumiere’s empty mansion.

                “I know we would...we’d _never_ have worked out, not...not after everything,” Astera goes on. “But it didn’t...it didn’t have to end like _this,_ y’know?”

                But Astera’s no necromancer. The dead don’t answer to her.

                “I’m sorry,” Astera breathes out. “I’m so sorry.”

                Something lodges in her throat and she ducks her head and doesn’t say everything else she means to: _It should have been me. You were successful, you were doing what you thought was right, you were making something for yourself. I’ve fucked you over again, this time for good._

                _If only I could bring you back, if only—_

_If only._

_I could bring you back._

                No, Astera is no necromancer, but there is one she ran with, once. Before she fucked that up, too, but not for Lairane—no, she’d pushed Lairane right to Esmee, and—and if Esmee got wind—

                _Esmee’s about as cold and unfeeling as a damn corpse._

                But no, she’s not. She has a brother she cares about, and that...that baby dragon that fucking follows her _everywhere_ , the one Astera tried to take with her when she up and left before she could be betrayed, turned in and executed.

                Finding Esmee would mean death, almost certainly.

                But it might mean life for Lairane.

                Astera bites her lip, steals another glance at the corpse and then at the staircase winding up to the second floor. She would be doing it all over again, wouldn’t she? Running to serve her best interests? But then again, who’d care if she stayed? Gorkks took her on for nothing more than a job. She’d tried to kill Szarin before, and maybe he’d helped save her life today, but he wouldn’t have had to if she hadn’t been here in the first place. And Spike, and his dog; they’d be able to breathe so much easier without her around, unpredictable. And Drelllamir and Eveldra, one less annoyance for them to deal with, one last _useless_ team member for Eveldra to bring back from death.

                _You are a burden, Astera Eilwyn._

                She’d been twelve the first time she heard it. The second time, fifteen, denounced by the same elven council that exiled her father. Now she does the job before anyone else has to; reminds herself of her place when she gets too big for her britches.

                And she’d been needing new pants for so long.

                _You are not leaving for you. You are leaving for them._

                If she leaves, she can throw the scent off of the rest of her renegade team. Revive Lairane, take the fall for her death, slip away once more and lead law enforcement on a wild goose chase, freeing up the rest of them. Hell, she can take the blame for the whole mission.

                _Liar. Cheater. Thief._

                _Yes, I orchestrated the heist of the Grenold gem._

_Yes, I killed that man in his sleep._

_Yes, I staged the prison break._

_Yes, I’ve been the one sneaking around all this time, leading a band of outlaws._

_I can do magic, you see. They’ve all been under my control the whole time._

                _Liar._ It can work. She just has to be convincing enough; stubborn, then reluctant, then cheeky. A _what else have I got to lose?_ attitude, like she’s already won. They’ll lock her up, execute her at worst. Lairane can live, get her life back in order. The rest of the team can deal with the shadowy monster lurking in the depths of the sea, save the world...and all will be right again.

                Astera’s teeth dig hard into her lower lip as she finally growls in the back of her throat and reaches for her dragonscale bracers, lying on the ground at her feet. She tugs them on, quick and harsh, edges scratching thin white lines into her skin. Next, she reaches for her daggers; palms them, tests their weight, sheaths them.

                She considers writing a note and leaving it behind; no note will throw the team into a tizzy, but she’ll be untraceable, the same way John slipped away from them, unnoticed. The same way Astera has slipped out of others’ lives time and time again. A note in vague terms might still launch the team after her; so will a note outlining her whole plan.

                _No note, then._

                They already had enough trouble today, figuring out their next steps from here. It’s too much brainpower and manpower to hunt her down and get her back if she leaves, brainpower and manpower they can’t afford to spend.

                Astera reaches over for Lairane’s body.

                Stealing from the dead hasn’t really seemed _wrong_ until now. Maybe because it’s personal, another part of her past snatched away from her before she could fix it. But regardless, she steals what she can—bits and pieces of jewelry, weapons, and then her eyes land on Lairane’s cape, with the hobgoblins’ insignia.

                Carefully, fingers brushing the cooling skin of Lairane’s chin, Astera unties it. Tugs it off. Winces and throws it over her own shoulders. Then she yanks the dark hood over her head. It’ll make a fitting disguise, maybe allow her some measure of authority. Maybe she can—maybe Esmee doesn’t have to know how Lairane died. Maybe Esmee doesn’t have to know a thing of what happened tonight, if she’s willing to hear Astera out.

                She’ll just have to bolt when Lairane gets resurrected.

                She glances down at the body again, prepares to scoop it into her arms so she can get it into the cart still sitting in their driveway, when she stops at the choker Lairane wears.

                A crescent moon, facing left.

                Astera lifts a hand to her own throat; underneath the high collar of her shirt, she feels the press of _her_ choker, a crescent moon facing to the right.

                When Astera blinks, something warm and wet slides down her cheek; something warm and wet that she downright refuses to identify as she grits her teeth, grunts, and hoists Lairane’s body over her shoulder.

                “Asshole,” she hisses, voice shaking. “You fucking _asshole_.”

                She backs into the door, and frees up one hand to turn the knob. Then she starts out in the dark, to the cart with horses still waiting. When she gets the door to the cart open, she finds weapons, food, supplies, and blankets, and benches for prisoners, lined with chains. Cargo, but certainly not precious.

                She heaves a sigh and sets Lairane down, and then climbs into the back of the cart, snags a blanket, and makes quick work of wrapping the body. Then she obscures it underneath a few more blankets, stows it behind several crates, and climbs out and shuts the door.

                For a moment, she allows herself to lean against it. Allows herself to screw her eyes shut and feel the warmth trail down her face, glinting in the light of the moon. In the distance, the waves keep crashing, the monster lurking. In the mansion, a few feet in front of her, the others sleep soundly, unaware.

                Then she opens her eyes, squares her shoulders, and gets moving.

**Author's Note:**

> ya so in the past: lairane was sent to kill astera, astera ended up meeting a necromancer named esmee, accidentally pissed off esmee when esmee met lairane, and then they both turned on astera regterherwghe
> 
> anyway uhhh
> 
> hope u enjoyed
> 
> ya yeet
> 
> stan my voltron fics i hated where canon went but the characters are mine now


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